


Here / Gone

by niseag



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niseag/pseuds/niseag
Summary: “I—I loved him—so much. And now he’s… oh god… I’m not ready for him to be gone.”Coda to Li'l Sebastian. Leslie breaks in Ben's arms after Li'l Sebastian's funeral and Ben doesn't really understand why.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Here / Gone

Ben understands the Li’l Sebastian thing, academically speaking.

Like, he’s aware of how people feel about him and everything.  _ Felt  _ about him. He’s dead. That’s why they’re here, at this horse wake, after the horse funeral. Half of Pawnee came out for the ceremony and Andy wrote that song and Chris was crying and Leslie was just barely holding herself together and the crowd had gone kind of insane… Look, Ben sees the impact. There’s no denying it. The evidence of it is everywhere. It’s indisputable. And it’s sad that Li’l Sebastian is dead. 

That still doesn’t mean he  _ gets _ it.

He sort of wishes he did, though, because he’s a little afraid that he’s not going to know how to be there for Leslie tonight when they get home and she finally, finally lets go. She’d thrown herself into the preparations with the kind of vigor only Leslie Knope is capable of but Ben has known all day that it’s going to hit her. He’s been waiting for it. And he’s pretty sure it has now. He’d caught her eye through the window just before and he could see it all over her face even though she’d given him a little smile.

When she comes back out into the courtyard there’s a dullness, an absence in her that Ben’s never seen before, not even when she had the flu. 

Ben watches her wander around the yard, a little like a ghost herself. Leslie doesn’t try to jump in on Ann and Chris talking, glances at Ron and Tom and seems to think better of it. Ben’s stuck talking to Jerry and so he’s not in the least surprised when Leslie looks at the two of them for an infinitesimal moment and then walks in the opposite direction.

He doesn’t understand the horse, but he understands that Leslie’s upset and he understands that he can’t just go to her, not after they’d just agreed not to speak to each other at work. He can’t deny there’s a certain allure to the whole secret dating thing, but he sort of wishes that Leslie had just said “yes” when he’d asked if she wanted to tell Chris. Maybe it’s insane, it’s too soon, but Ben’s pretty sure he’d have agreed to do it if she’d asked him to.

Ben looks for her again. Now she’s standing in a corner, tearing the label off a full bottle of beer.

Yeah, fuck this.

With some difficulty, Ben extracts himself from his conversation with Jerry halfway through an anecdote about nana Gergich’s recipe for rock cakes and makes a beeline for Ann and Chris. If he can’t hold her himself, he can still do the next best thing: send Ann Perkins.

Or maybe, much as he’s loath to admit it, this isn’t next best at all. This might just be… best. After all, Ann is actually from Pawnee. Ann gets it.

***

It’s late when she comes home. Even by Leslie standards.

She sets down her purse, steps out of her heels, takes one look at Ben standing in her kitchen—covered in waffle batter and splots of fresh cream—and bursts into tears.

“Hey,” Ben whispers, wrapping around her gently. “Hey, hey hey. I’m making you fresh waffles.”

Leslie clutches him like she’s drowning and sobs, shuddering in his arms. She lets out a long, broken wail and seems to collapse into him, held up only by the strength of Ben’s embrace and the tension in her fingers against his back. The force of her grief is frightening. He holds her closer and strokes her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says, resting his lips on her head. “I know you loved him.”

Leslie shakes. “I—I loved him—so much.”

“I know.”

“And now he’s… oh god…” Leslie pulls back a little to look at him, face puffy and red, lips cracked and quivering. She looks so broken. “I’m not ready for him to be gone.”

“Yeah. But you’re always gonna remember him and how much you loved him.”

She presses her lips together, closes her eyes. “What if he doesn’t know I did?”

“Li’l Sebastian?” The horse? Leslie sobs again and presses her face back into him, smothering her nose in whipped cream from his apron. He wipes it off gently and licks it from his thumb, cradling her again. God, the thing he loves most about Leslie is how deeply she feels. Of course Leslie Knope would worry that the horse didn’t know how loved he was. She’s ridiculous. She’s perfect. “Li’l Sebastian definitely knew.”

She doesn’t say anything else for a long time. Ben’s not sure how long they stand there, his lips in her hair, holding her while she cries.

Eventually, the waffle maker makes a noise and he leads her to the couch, settles her with a blanket and a glass of wine while he fetches the waffles and the cream. Leslie’s a little despondent while she eats, fumbling with the cutlery and not seeming to notice when she spills whipped cream on her shirt. Ben blots it for her with gentle fingers, kissing her softly before taking their plates to the kitchen and cleaning up, casting worried glances over his shoulder as he works.

When he comes back to the lounge, there’s something fresh and intent in Leslie. It’s like hunger, but it’s not. Ben’s familiar with Leslie’s hunger. He sees it in her work, in her friendships, in her relationship with her mother, in how she looks at him when they’re alone. It’s one of the things he loves about her. This is different. This look is starvation.

“I need you,” she says, turning to Ben as he sits.

“You’ve got me.”

Leslie rises slowly, climbs into his lap and runs her fingers through his hair. “I need you,” she says again, kissing him. It’s slow, deep, deliberate and there’s a yearning there so powerful it would be frightening if Ben didn’t feel it too. 

“You’ve got me,” he murmurs against her lips, taking her face in his hands gently. “I’m here.”

Leslie deepens the kiss, pressing every inch of her body against every inch of his. Her fingers tighten in his hair for a moment before dropping to his tie and pulling it loose, picking the knot undone. She pulls the tie from his collar slowly and then starts to unbutton his shirt.

“Please,” she breathes, pressing into him harder. He can feel the heat between her thighs, feels himself rising to meet her. Ben nods into the kiss and slips her blazer off, gently working at the buttons on her shirt. She’d bought this shirt for him just last week.

They kiss, hot and slow and languid, like a humid summer’s day, like they have a lifetime. Shirts fall. Leslie throws her bra over her shoulder as she sinks into Ben’s hands, breasts warm and firm in his palms. She moans into his mouth as he palms her, longing and reverent, wanting all of her yet not wanting to ask. She’s vulnerable, hurt, she’s calling the shots. He spends an eternity sucking at that spot on her neck just behind her ear, another infinity dropping kisses down her neck and worshipping her breasts with his tongue, taking her sighs and the hitches in her breath as his daily devotion.

Leslie buries herself in Ben, kissing every piece of skin she can reach as if it’s her dying wish. Her mouth trails lazily, hungrily over his adam’s apple, the pit of his throat, along his collarbone, tongue tracing his every contour. She kisses his shoulder, his bicep, his forearm, sucks on the pulse in his wrist and presses her lips to his hand like she’s in church, like she’s begging. She leaves nowhere unexalted. She kisses his palm, nuzzles under his arm, grazes his nipples and his sternum and his ribs. When Leslie comes back to press her lips back to his, he realises she is crying.

Ben wipes her tears and kisses her, soft and firm.

Leslie smiles just a little, the same ghost of a smile she gave him through the window in the courtyard. They sit like this for a moment, holding each other, sad blue eyes meeting gentle brown ones, and then something shifts in Leslie again. She kisses him hard and dirty, fingernails digging into his upper arms.

“I need you. Please,” she says, crashing her lips against his. “Please, Ben, I need you.”

Ben nods breathlessly. They break from each other for only as long as it takes to shed the rest of their clothes and not a second more. Leslie comes back to him, sinking down, enveloping him in warmth and wetness and she moans long and low. It could be agony, might be relief.

She rides him slowly at first, forehead pressed to his as they lock eyes and Ben swears to god he will never get used to the nirvana of Leslie Knope’s breasts against his chest or the look in her eyes as she fucks him. 

Leslie clutches at his shoulders and drops her head to his neck, driving harder against him. Ben comes to meet her thrust for thrust. She leans back and he takes her breasts in his hands while her nails bite into his skin. She’s drawing blood. Ben doesn’t care. He puts one hand on her shoulder and draws her closer so he can kiss her neck, her chest, and every kiss spurs her on, harder and deeper. 

He feels her inch closer to the edge and he’s right there with her. She comes back to him just before they break and she screams into his mouth as she falls apart above him, raw and trembling. 

Leslie crumples against him as she comes down and Ben curls himself around her, holding her while she breathes.

She stays still for a long time, maybe for longer than Ben’s seen her stay still before, cheek pressed against his chest just over his heart. Her eyelashes tickle a little each time she blinks. Leslie’s gone to a place where Ben can’t follow and all he can do is be here, waiting for her when she comes back. He draws meaningless shapes and nonsense poems on the soft skin of her back with one finger, runs his hand through her hair, whispers to her that she’s going to be alright. 

When the cold creeps in and Leslie starts to shiver, Ben reaches to grab a blanket and wraps them both up in it, cradling her against him. She sniffs softly and looks up at him, eyes watery. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Ben tightens his fingers and pulls her closer. He thinks about the horse, thinks about how he’s the pride of Pawnee. He thinks about Leslie, this magnificent woman curled up in his arms, bursting with love for her town, this insane town that he has made his home. He thinks of the photograph of the three of them—Ben, Leslie, and Li’l Sebastian—the one he stuck on his wall the same day it was taken.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “Oh god, Ben…” she breaks off, swallowing hard and swiping at her own tears. “I… I’m—I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, no,” Ben says, pressing a finger to her lips. “I understand. You’re going to miss him.”

Leslie squeezes her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Yeah,” she agrees, barely audible. “I’m really going to miss him.”

Ben kisses her and tucks her under his chin, reassuring her wordlessly that she really is going to be okay.

She’s got him. Forever, if she wants.

Leslie holds him tight and doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Gracie for inspiring and betaing this and for ruining my life daily. <3


End file.
